


Before and After, Then and Now

by dogpoet



Series: Punctuation [8]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Family, M/M, Oxford, never let Hathaway name a cat, the weight of the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Val and After Val. Before James and Now. Sometimes Lewis needs to be reminded who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before and After, Then and Now

**Author's Note:**

> There seems to be fandom consensus that Lewis’s son is named Ken or Mark, but since this is only in DVD liner notes or someplace obscure, I made up my own name (Tom) in _Bright Star_. Just a reminder so no one’s confused. It’s been a while since that story.
> 
> Beta by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/profile)[**simoneallen**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/) and [Luthien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien)

The late afternoon sun shone down on them as they exited the station. Lewis paused for a moment, eyes closed, enjoying the light and warmth on his face after hours in front of the computer. Beside him, he heard rather than saw Hathaway lighting a cigarette. The smell of smoke wafted towards him, familiar and comforting. 

“Fancy a pint?”

“Nice day for it,” Lewis agreed. 

They walked to Hathaway’s car and climbed in. A short time later, they were seated at The Trout, each with their ale. 

Lewis could feel Hathaway’s eyes on him. “What?”

“You have something on your mind.”

He didn’t like to worry James unnecessarily. “Just thinking.” Lyn had the late shift that day, but tomorrow she was off, and Lewis had told her he’d ring her after work. _I want to catch up with you is all_ , he’d said. He had no idea what he was going to tell her.

Hathaway didn’t say anything, but the wheels were turning in his brain. Lewis knew him well by now. He had that thinky look about him.

“I suspect,” James said, sipping his ale, “she’ll be happy for you.”

“Sergeant Hathaway?” a woman’s voice said from behind them.

They both turned to see Ruth Brooks and Edward Florey. 

“Oh, hello,” Hathaway said. He stood up to shake Eddie’s hand, and then Ruth’s.

“Miss Brooks,” Lewis said, standing, thinking she looked exceptionally lovely. And happy. 

“Sorry to interrupt. We were sitting over there, and I saw you. I thought you should know our news, since you had a part in it.” She and Eddie smiled at one another, hands clasped.

“We’re getting married,” Eddie said.

Hathaway rocked on his feet. “That’s wonderful.”

“Congratulations,” Lewis said.

“Thank you. It wouldn’t have happened if not for you.”

“He’s a regular matchmaker.” Lewis smiled at Hathaway, resisting the urge to touch him. “When’s the happy event?”

“October. Best have it before it gets too cold. We didn’t want to wait until spring. Oh! Give me your card. We’ll send you an invitation.”

Hathaway busied himself getting out his wallet and giving Ruth a card. 

“Brilliant.” She glanced at Lewis. “You, too. Same address, I take it.” She gestured with the card.

Lewis felt himself flush. The statement was more true than she knew.

‘’ 

Lewis had been in the middle of interviewing Ruth Brooks when the call came. McLennan was talking to one of the other girls, seeing if she could find a clue to Judd Haverlock’s whereabouts. The bells were just ringing six, a heavy winter rain was falling, and Ruth Brooks wouldn’t stop crying.

“Miss Brooks,” Lewis said again.

She blew her nose into his handkerchief, curled tightly into an armchair in the Lady Matilda’s library. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m — I’m —” She struggled for breath.

Lewis gazed down at her kindly from his perch on one of the desks. He hoped Lyn never went through anything like this. 

McLennan appeared suddenly in the doorway, wearing a long face. “Rob?”

“Yeah?” He looked at her expectantly. Another victim?

Ali tilted her head towards the corridor. “Come out here a minute?”

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he told Ruth, and she nodded wordlessly. Lewis stepped into the corridor to join McLennan.

“Let’s go in here.” She led him to the room beside the library. It was dark inside, but she switched on the light. Equations and formulas filled the blackboard at the front of the room.

“What’s going on?”

“Rob…” Ali reached out to touch his arm. “We’ve just had a call from The Met.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know how to tell you. I can’t. I thought I should be the one to tell you, but…”

“What?” Ali never had any trouble saying anything, not in his experience.

“It’s Val. They called to tell me she — was in an accident. It was a hit and run.”

Lewis’s heart stopped. And then started again, hurting his chest. “Where? Where is she? Is she all right?”

Ali shook her head, putting her hand to her mouth. Lewis watched her, trying to decipher what she was trying to tell him. When she reached for him again, trying to fold him into a hug, he knew. He knew. 

He moved away from her. “Where? Where do I go? I want to see her.” There was a physical pull on him, a rope. A need. He only half-heard the name of the station as he walked mechanically towards the door, and then towards the exit at the end of the corridor. Outside, several students were running about, shouting, sliding on the grass. One of the trees still had a few leaves, curled brown. There was a muddy footprint on the pavement. He had trouble finding his car. Couldn’t remember where he’d put it. And it was hard to see in the rain. But, then, there it was. He felt for his keys, but they weren’t there. Damn! Ali had driven, and she still had the keys. He didn’t want to go back. But then he heard her voice, calling.

‘’ 

“Robbie?”

Lewis turned towards the voice, stopping in the middle of the station’s bland corridor. Laura’s smile greeted him. What was it? Fifteen years now? They hadn’t always got on, but now the sight of her pleased him.

“Dead body I don’t know about?” Lewis asked.

“Should I worry that you seem so eager?”

“It gives me purpose in life.”

Laura hooked her arm in his, and they walked together. “Your Hathaway seems back to normal, normal as he can be.”

“Yeah.”

“But...?”

Lewis stopped and rubbed his face with his hand, eyes scrunching shut. “I haven’t told Lyn yet.”

“Ah.” Laura let his arm go, and stood looking at him with concern.

“Needs must.”

“Yes. Needs must.”

“I’m ringing her up after work. I don’t like to tell her over the phone, but the alternative is worse. Going up there, pretending? I couldn’t. It’s bad enough I’ve waited this long.”

“You managed to tell me,” Laura said encouragingly. 

“You’re not me daughter. And you weren’t exactly happy about it, were you?”

“I — Well, I do sometimes wish things had worked out. I won’t lie to you. But I want you to be happy. I don’t expect Lyn’s any different, whatever else she might feel.”

“I know. You’re right. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No.”

They looked at one another for a long moment.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say?”

“Crikey.”

Laura laughed. “How did you put it with me? ‘Laura, something’s happened.’ God, I thought someone had died. You looked as if someone had!”

Lewis grimaced in embarrassment, remembering.

“It’ll take some time, I imagine, but she’ll get used to the idea. You’ve been — happy. For the first time in a long time, Robbie. How could she not like him?” Laura clasped his hand briefly, then let go. “You’ll tell me how it goes?”

“Yeah,” Lewis agreed. He offered Laura a small smile. “I suppose I’ve made worse phone calls in me life.”

‘’ 

By the time Lewis got home from London, it was past midnight. The windows were dark, a rarity. It felt strange to come into the unlit front hall. He wondered if Tom was awake, or if he was out with the lads. Lewis half hoped the latter. He needed time to gather himself together. And he needed to call Lyn.

He didn’t turn on the hall light, but plodded to the kitchen in the darkness. He knew the way. They’d lived in this house long enough. What was it? Twenty years? The fridge hummed loudly. Lewis listened to it for a moment before he turned on the light. Without thinking, he filled the kettle and set it to boil. This, he could do. He put the tea in the pot before he realised it would be too much for one. Unless Tom was home. Ah, well.

His stomach growled. Right. He hadn’t had his tea yet. Opening the fridge, he peered in. A glass lasagne dish covered in aluminium foil stared him in the face. In Val’s handwriting, a small note informed him: 30 minutes at 180.

Lewis closed the fridge, fighting to breathe. He leant on the fridge door until the shortness of breath passed. He opened the fridge again. He gazed at the note. No, he couldn’t touch it. But he had to eat. He closed the fridge again, then opened the freezer. Inside were a few of Val’s slimming plan meals. Those made him ache, too. But there was a frozen garlic baguette. Lewis grabbed it, took it out of its package, laid it on the rack in the oven, and shut the door. He set the temperature to 200.

Tom. He had to tell Tom. 

Passing the living room, he noticed the Christmas tree with all the gifts under it. 

He climbed the stairs to see if Tom was in bed, but the open bedroom door yawned in the darkness. Out with the lads, then. What day was it? Thursday? What was he doing out this late on a Thursday? Lewis stood in the doorway, surveying his son’s room. Cricket bat. Computer. Comic books. He was suddenly glad Tom hadn’t left home right after school, even if all they did was fight. 

Lewis drifted over to Lyn’s room. She’d finished the term, and had gone on a brewery tour up north with friends. He couldn’t remember when she was due home. Val kept track of those things. For once, he was grateful for mobiles. If you could be grateful that you could call your daughter to tell her her mum had died. He’d have to call a family liaison officer to go get her and bring her home. That would be best. Better than trying to drive to get her himself. He was in no state.

Lyn’s room was tidy, as she’d left it. The bed was made up. Probably Val, preparing for Lyn to come home. The bed looked inviting, and there was no way Lewis could face their bedroom. He sat heavily on the bed, and took off his shoes. He didn’t even remember his head hitting the pillow. But the next thing he knew, a bright light was shining in his face, and someone was shouting.

“Dad!”

Lewis shut his eyes against the light. 

“Dad!”

“Yeah, what?” He felt disorientated. What time was it? “Tom?”

“What are you doing in here? Didn’t you hear the smoke alarm? Your bloody bread was about to burn the house down!”

“I —” Lewis sat up, blinking painfully. What in hell was he doing in Lyn’s room?

“Where’s Mum?” Tom was looking down at him. He’d been drinking.

“Isn’t she in bed?” Lewis asked before remembering. “Oh, hell.” He hid his face in his hands.

“Jesus Christ, Dad. What’s going on with you?”

“Your mum has bloody well been killed, that’s what’s wrong with me!” Lewis shouted.

Silence. Lewis looked up to find Tom staring at him in shock. It had all gone pear-shaped again. Never could get things right with Tom. Never could say the right thing.

“I’m sorry.” He lost his breath again. And tears came, finally, hot and fast. “I’m sorry. It was a car crash.” He couldn’t go on. His job was to tell people their relatives had died, but now, when it mattered most, he couldn’t do it right.

“She was in London. It was a hit and run,” Lewis struggled on. “I’ve been there all —” He fought for breath. “All night.” He was falling apart. If he were a good father, he’d be keeping it together for Tom, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“You —” he heard Tom say.

He didn’t look at Tom. There were no more words inside him. And he and Tom had little enough to say to one another on the best of days. And even on the best of days, he had no idea how to fix it. He heard retreating footsteps. He heard running down the stairs, but he couldn’t get up. He was made of lead. He couldn’t. A door — the front door — slammed. He sat for another moment, then the sheer weight of what he held on his shoulders pushed him back down onto the bed. He had to call Lyn. 

After a few minutes, or maybe an hour, he forced himself up. He found the phone Lyn still had in her room, even though she was hardly there to use it. He dialled the number he had memorised.

‘’ 

While he waited for Lyn to pick up, Lewis began unpacking the groceries he’d brought home. He had plans to make Hathaway dinner. Hathaway was always cooking for him, and he’d started to feel a bit guilty about it. He’d never felt bad that Val cooked for him. Gender roles, he supposed. Times had changed. It wasn’t too late to learn to cook, was it? New tricks and all that. If there was a disaster, James would be home soon to rescue him.

“Hi, Dad,” Lyn answered after the fourth ring.

Lewis’s stomach leapt towards his throat, and he could feel his heart pounding, thump, thump, thump. “Hi, Pet. How’s things?” He popped the cap off a beer. He needed fortification.

“Could be better. It’s getting hard to be on my feet all day. I’ll be glad when my leave starts!”

“Don’t overdo it,” Lewis cautioned. Lyn was always full of energy, and it was hard to stop her rushing about.

“Don’t worry. I’m definitely slowing down, even though work’s been madness.” Lyn rattled on about one of the other nurses, who had recently discovered her boyfriend was cheating on her, and another who was quitting to move to India. Lewis listened distractedly, making appropriate exclamations now and then, waiting for the right moment to say what he had to say.

“What’s that noise?” Lyn asked when Lewis set the saucepan on the stove. The pork chops had to be seared before going in the oven. 

“I’m cooking dinner.”

“You? Cooking?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I’ve been living on me own for years, now. I have learnt a thing or two.”

Lyn laughed. “What are you making?”

“Pork chops and veg.”

“Just for you? Or are you cooking for James, too?” Lyn asked, her tone teasing.

Was she joking? Or did she know? Lewis felt his face heat up. “He’ll be over later,” Lewis admitted, contemplating the right words to transition to what he wanted to say, but before he could, Lyn chattered on.

“Good. I’m glad you’re not eating alone. What should we do while you’re here? Anything special?” 

“We don’t need to do anything. We can help you round the house.” Lewis began unwrapping the pork chops. His hands were shaking, he noticed. Probably not wise to turn on the burner just yet.

“There’s not much to be done. The room is all painted. I’ve put up little moons and stars. It’s sweet. Oh, and the girls at work are throwing me a shower next week. I swear, I don’t know where I’ll put everything. We’ve got the pram and the playpen and a little walker thing with wheels. It’s chaos. But not to worry, we’ve got room for both of you. James will have to sleep on the sofa, I’m afraid, because we turned the guest room into the baby’s room, and we had to get rid of the bed. There’s a sofa bed in there now.”

This was the perfect opening. Lewis braced himself against the worktop. “About that, Pet.” Thump, thump, thump. “We won’t be needing the sofa.”

“What do you mean? Has he decided not to come?”

“No, he’s still coming with me, but...” Lewis tried to find the words. “We’re... We’d prefer to share the bed. If that’s all right.”

“Share the —?”

There was dead silence.

Finally, a small “Oh.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“God. I’m so — _stupid_. Christ.”

“I know it’s unexpected,” Lewis said, thinking that was the understatement of the year.

Lyn laughed a strange laugh. Lewis waited for her to say something, but she didn’t.

“Pet?”

“Yeah?”

Lewis wished he could see her face. “Are you all right?”

“God. I should have seen it, shouldn’t I? You always talk about him, and — when did this — when did this happen?”

“It’s been a few months now.” If his heart kept pounding like it was, it was likely to give out. He reached for his beer, clutching it without drinking.

“When we were in Italy, you — he was always texting you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I don’t know. What was I supposed to say? I’d barely got used to the idea meself.”

“I don’t know,” Lyn answered, echoing him. “I just wish... I don’t know.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Okay.” 

There was more silence. Lewis wondered if he’d made a mistake. But he had to tell her, didn’t he? James wasn’t going anywhere, and Lewis didn’t like keeping important things from Lyn. Still. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking or feeling. 

“Is it still all right if I bring him?”

“Yeah,” Lyn said. It sounded as if she was crying. “Of course. It’s great, Dad. I’m glad. I’m happy for you. Is this — well, it’s so sudden.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. It feels that way for me, too. Though I suppose I should have seen it coming.”

“Did you think about this when you were with Mum?” Lyn asked abruptly.

“What?” Lewis said, but immediately realised what she meant. “No! It never even crossed me mind! It still doesn’t, really. It’s just James. I like him. I love him. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay,” Lyn said again. “I guess we’ll talk about it more when you come up. I’m a little, I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m happy for you, I am.”

“You’ll like him,” Lewis reassured her.

More silence. And a sniffle. 

“Pet?” Lewis heard a voice halloing in the background. Alex, no doubt.

“What’s going on?” the voice asked.

“Nothing,” Lyn said, answering him. “It’s my dad. Everything’s fine. I’ll tell you later.” She spoke into the phone again. “I’d better go. It’s fine. Bring him, okay? It’s — it’s fine. I’m happy for you,” she said for the hundredth time, as if it was what she thought she was supposed to say.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m just — I have to get used to it, that’s all. We’ll talk more later.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

They said their goodbyes, and Lewis disconnected the call. He stared at the phone, which informed him of the length of the conversation: less than ten minutes. It didn’t seem like long enough for the gravity of what he’d told her. He had a sudden impulse to call her back, to make sure she was all right. He resisted. Instead, he set the phone down on the worktop and took several generous swallows of beer. He wished James hadn’t gone rowing. Lewis wanted him now, wanted to touch him, make sure he was real, because he’d just changed his daughter’s world, and he needed to know he’d done the right thing.

‘’ 

Lewis sat on Lyn’s bed for a long minute, staring at the phone. His fingerprints were on it and somewhere there was a record of the call, proof he’d done it, but he had the urge to wipe his prints, erase the phone call from existence. In a haze, he got up and stumbled towards the door.

 _The lights, Robbie. The bill’s gone up again._ Her voice.

His hand reached for the light switch, and the room settled into darkness. 

He made his way downstairs, turning off the lights as he went. Stair. Hallway. Kitchen. Everywhere reeked of smoke, and the rooms were freezing cold. Tom had opened the windows.

_You look like you need a cuppa._

He stared at the sad black loaf that Tom had left lying on the worktop. He couldn’t be in the house. She was there, but she wasn’t there. His mind was in a muddle, and the world was upside-down. He opened the front door and went outside.

‘’ 

There was the house. Lewis sat on the kerb opposite. He had no idea how he’d got there. He’d walked, he remembered that much. He didn’t need to think about how to get anywhere in Oxford. After over 30 years, the place was in his bones, whether he liked it or not.

It was still light out. And warm. There were no lights in the front windows, but Lewis could tell someone was home. The smell of cooking emanated from the house. Kitchen windows open, then. Someone looking out on the back garden. Someone standing at the worktop chopping vegetables. He wondered if the new owners had replaced the flooring, or if they stood on the exact lino Val had stood on. It was out of fashion now, he reckoned. It had been out of fashion then. But everything came back, didn’t it?

He wanted to knock on the door and ask to be let in. But it was better not to see the changes to the place. It wasn’t his any longer. He wasn’t the same man who’d shut the front door behind him every morning as he headed to work. He wasn’t the same man who’d sat watching telly with Val, or who’d shouted up the stairs at Lyn, or who’d studied for his inspector’s exam, sitting at the dining table with Tom. He wasn’t the same, only not everyone knew it yet.

The sky darkened, and the street quieted. Lewis paid no attention to a car pulling up to the kerb nearby. A door slammed. It crossed his mind that he must look odd sitting out here for God only knew how long. He looked up. 

The car was a familiar silver hatchback, and James stood beside it, his hand still on the door. After a moment, he came and sat beside Lewis, looking at the house. He didn’t say anything, but he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

When James had finished the cigarette, he rubbed the butt on the pavement to extinguish it fully. “Em Dash was quite pleased you forgot the pork chops on the worktop. Turned her nose up at the beans and potatoes, I’m afraid.”

“That was supposed to be for you. I was making you dinner.” Lewis’s heart felt rusty, like it wasn’t working properly. “How’d you find me?”

“I drove around in circles. At least I knew you were on foot. That helped. I was worried.”

That was Hathaway understating things. Lewis leant into him for a moment, then nodded towards the house. “Twenty years, we lived in that house. I don’t even know who’s in there now.”

James was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “You can tell me if I’m out of line, but I think we should go home.”

“No, you’re right.” Lewis looked at him, at the divot between his eyebrows, his sweat-matted hair, his tatty t-shirt with damp patches under the arms. There was a hole in his left trainer where his big toe had pressed up against the mesh fabric one too many times. Lewis was flooded with love for him. It was suddenly more confusing than it had been, more confusing than the many times in the last few months when he’d kissed James and touched him, and the times he’d let himself be touched.

James was still holding the cigarette butt. Lewis pulled himself to his feet, and James followed almost immediately.

“Is there anything — you need?”

“Nah.” Nothing he could put into words. “Home, James.”

Hathaway hesitated for a moment before stepping over to the car in five long strides and opening the door. Lewis got in on the passenger side. He watched Hathaway open the ashtray and put the butt inside it. Hathaway’s car smelled faintly of cigarettes, as it always did. Some things didn’t change. 

But this little area had changed. Prices had gone up, and there were fewer children playing in the streets. All inside playing video games, maybe. Lewis watched the familiar buildings pass by the car window. The map of the city was carved into his mind, carved over time. It was his city, wasn’t it? Even if he was always out of place, rubbing the wrong way against professors and high-minded students. He’d come here from another world. He’d been no different to the workers coming from India or Poland or China, full of hope, ready to start a new life. He’d felt that way when he’d arrived with Val. But when he’d returned after being in the Virgin Islands, Oxford had felt like the old world, the one he’d left behind. But he was a stranger there, too. 

Before he knew it, they were back in front of their building, and Hathaway was engaging the hand brake. He didn’t immediately open his door, or even remove the keys from the ignition. They sat there quietly.

“I hope you put the pork chops out of reach,” Lewis said at last.

“I binned them. Do you think raw pork is bad for cats?”

“I’ve no idea.” Lewis hoped not.

“She didn’t get far with it.”

“We’d best check on her.”

They got out at the same instant and slammed their doors in harmony. Lewis realised he didn’t have his keys. Blimey, had he left the door unlocked? Unlike him. He followed James up the steps and into the building. James unlocked the door, and they went inside.

Emmy lay stretched out happily on the sofa. Lewis bent over her in concern, and she looked up at him with her big, green eyes. 

“You scallywag,” Lewis said, countering the reprimand with a scratch behind the ears.

“She seems all right.”

Lewis felt Hathaway’s hand on his back. He turned round and found himself with an armful. He leant his forehead on James’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled like sun and sweat, cologne and cigarettes. The combination lit something inside Lewis, and he wanted, wanted James painfully.

“You smell nice.”

“I’m in desperate need of a shower.” 

This was it, then? This? Now? This smell turning him on. Lewis kissed James’s throat, sucking pinkness to the surface, tasting salt and skin, the roughness of stubble. Clumsily, they found each other’s mouths, and Lewis guided James towards the hallway. 

In the bedroom, James extricated himself and bent to unlace his shoes. Lewis did the same, pulling off his socks without care. They tumbled onto the bed, legs atangle, breathless, kisses haphazard. Lewis let James roll him onto his back. He looked up at the ceiling. Not the view he was used to in bed. Not before this, anyway. It was a little thing, but it hit him suddenly.

James stilled. “You’re trembling.”

“Sometimes I don’t know who I am any more,” Lewis said.

“You’re who you’ve always been.”

Lewis shifted his gaze from the ceiling to James’s face. “I was different then.”

“Different in some ways.” James touched Lewis’s cheek with gentle fingers. “Not the important ones.”

Lewis wasn’t one to cry, but his throat tightened up all the same, and he found it hard to breathe. “Remind me,” he said. He took James’s hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss the palm. It smelled of metal and wood. “Remind me.” He moved James’s hand down to the buttons of his shirt. “Please,” he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

“You’re you,” James said, kissing him.

There was a flurry as they undressed one another, fighting buttons and Hathaway’s unruly elbows. They crashed together, a bit rough, James pulling him on top, the novelty of that now, looking down at James’s face, open in ecstasy, in need.

Who had he been? He’d been seventeen, failing O-levels because of the bloody _Pickwick Papers_. He’d been eighteen, smoking pot and wondering if he’d end up working for Curzon Engineering, stuck in Newcastle for the rest of his life. He’d been 21, he’d been trying it on with a girl named Valerie while the band’s noise thundered in his ears. He’d been 23, slipping a ring onto Val’s finger. He’d been 24, packing all his things, going as far from home as he’d ever been. He’d been 25, in his first year as a policeman. He’d been 28 when Lyn was born, pacing the beige corridors of the hospital. He’d been Morse’s bagman. He’d been the man who was never home enough. He’d been the man who missed his own son’s birth. He’d been 40, noticing he was getting on, adding weight, getting a grey hair or two. He’d become an inspector. He’d been 41 and 42 and 43 and 44, and the years had blended together. He’d been 48, a year he’d forever remember, the year he became a widower. He’d been an alcoholic. He hadn’t felt worthy. Sometimes he hadn’t even wanted to live. He’d been 50, and then some. And now? Now he was 58. He was about to be a grandfather. He was still a father. He was still a detective. He was slave to a little, grey cat. He was things he had a hard time explaining. He was a man who’d taken on a God-botherer as his sergeant. He was a man who’d let that sergeant change him, bit by bit. And he was the man James Hathaway let inside him, over and over again, in all the ways he could.

‘’ 

An hour and a half later, Lewis stood at the worktop, looking down at the mess. Emmy had had a grand time, knocking over his beer, tearing up the pork chops, and tracking blood and lager everywhere. As Hathaway had said, the green beans and potatoes were untouched. At least the cat had good taste.

“Takeaway?” James asked, coming up behind Lewis and encircling him in grabby tentacles.

“But it’s about time I cooked you dinner,” Lewis protested.

“I could go to Waitrose and get a roasted chicken, and you could make the potatoes and beans.”

A wet kiss behind his ear. His affectionate octopus. His hungry, affectionate octopus. “All right,” Lewis said.

“We can stave off starvation with lager.” 

Lewis smiled and began wiping up the mess on the worktop. He felt an absence as Hathaway let go, then went to fetch his keys. A minute later, Lewis heard the front door shut. It was comforting, the Hathaway noises, the idea of him returning with a chicken. He could almost forget about the rest of the day. He ought to call Lyn tomorrow. Shock, it was. Give her a chance to calm down, and she might be fine. He wished Lyn had met James before. That might have made it easier. Nothing to be done about it. She’d meet him soon enough.

Lewis had just got the mess cleaned up when James returned, and he was chopping the potatoes into chunks for boiling. Val had always done it that way to speed things up. He’d learnt a thing or two in the kitchen.

“May I help?” James set the chicken on the worktop.

“You’re not supposed to help. Drink your lager.”

“I could start the water boiling.”

“Ah,” Lewis said. He’d forgotten to start the water.

James smiled at him, gently mocking. 

“Hush.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

James got the saucepan from the cupboard, and filled it. A clattering sound made them both stop what they were doing to peer into the living room. Emmy had her mouse in her paws, and she was tossing it into the air, then chasing after it. None the worse for her little adventure, then.

After James had set the saucepan on the hob, he asked, “What did Lyn say?” He leant on the worktop, looking at Lewis carefully.

“She said she was happy for me, and excited to meet you.”

“Did she really?”

“Her exact words.”

Hathaway didn’t say anything, but he kept his eyes on Lewis. Lewis knew when he’d been caught out, but he didn’t feel like discussing it. 

“Is there something I can do? To make it easier?”

“You could get out of me way.” Lewis nodded towards the hob. 

James moved aside, and Lewis dumped the potato chunks into the water. It wasn’t boiling yet. Did that make a difference?

“I suppose…it just takes time, doesn’t it?” Lewis hoped time was all Lyn needed.

“I imagine so,” James said.

“How did I — This. I didn’t think about it. Not this far out.”

“You only wanted to get in my pants.”

“Sod off! It was nothing like that.”

James laughed, showing his teeth, which he rarely did. Lewis pulled him close and kissed him. Kissed him again. He would never get tired of it. Who would have thought?

“I love you,” James said softly but fiercely in Lewis’s ear. “I love you so much.”

‘’ 

In the morning, the city was bright with sun as James drove them to work. Lewis noticed things that had changed even in the short years he’d been back. Like the Somerfield turning into a Waitrose.

They passed near the allotments where he’d almost planted marrows. Or carrots. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to have done. But someday he’d remember, and he’d do it.

Their route didn’t take them by the shark, but Lewis had a fondness for it. He’d almost driven off the road the first time he’d seen it. Thought he was having a vision of the end of days. It was Emmy’s dream, that shark. A good thing she couldn’t see it. Val had delighted in the shark, and he’d loved her for that. Just as he loved James for his store of obscure facts. Carfax meant four forks. A fire had burnt a fourth of the city during an epidemic of plague and typhus. The city was once called Oxenforda, a ford for oxen, a crossing, a bridge. The rivers split the city, town and gown. Lewis liked to imagine it before the university, cattle trampling the grounds. He felt more at home with oxen than with academics. More at home in a prison than in that fancy hotel they’d built in the 90s. Malmaison, James had told him, meant _The Evil House_. He’d laughed at that.

It was a different city now. He thought of it differently. His map of it, when he’d been raising the kids, had been full of parks and playgrounds and the places the kids liked to eat. The places Val liked, too. That Greek restaurant was gone. What was there now? Kebab, most likely. He’d watched the people change, too. More immigrants from Poland now, all sorts of languages filling the streets of Cowley, the city expanding to house her 150,000 people. 

He had a policeman’s map of the streets. Where the homeless frequented. All the crime scenes. Crime scenes with Morse. Crime scenes with McLennan. And now with James. How many dead bodies in how many flats on how many of the city’s narrow streets? 

They came down onto The Plain, went through the tangle at the roundabout, passing near Lady Matilda’s. Matildabeasts. It wasn’t proper to call them that now. Morse had told him the rhyme the students sang about the founders of the college: 

_Miss Buss and Miss Beale  
Cupid’s darts do not feel.  
How different from us  
Miss Beale and Miss Buss._

_It’s the Middle Ages there, Lewis. They should let the women mix_. Of course Morse would think that. Probably wanted to mix with them himself. 

Morse. Bending to kiss him goodbye.

He always thought of Morse when he stopped in to have a pint. They’d had a great many pints together, most of them Morse’s. The Trout, The Perch, The Turf, The Randolph, The King’s Arms, The Vicky, The White Horse, The Eagle and Child, The Bookbinders, and The Bear, where the barman had once cut the end off Morse’s tie.

He’d watched the shops on The High changing. He’d watched as the city tried to streamline Cornmarket and Queen Streets. But nothing short of a miracle could solve the city centre traffic mess.

They turned off of The High and onto St Aldate’s. James had explained the bells, once, as they’d stood there one evening in the waning summer light. Explained why they rang at 9:05. Great Tom ringing 101 times. Tom. His distant son called to mind, and now the bells would always remind him. James loved those bells. Lewis had no idea why. They were just bells. You could hear bells anywhere. But there were things he’d never understand about Hathaway. Or maybe, in time, he would. 

Over 30 years of his life here, he and Hathaway had gone down their separate paths, never crossing, never meeting, until that day in the airport. Or maybe they’d walked by one another without knowing, on the street, in the park. Maybe they’d been in the same cinema or the same restaurant. There was no way of knowing, really. But they were both here now.

Hathaway steered into the car park. They got out and headed for the station doors with all their scars. Battle scars. Signs of time. Signs of belonging. Lewis walked through the doors, James by his side, and he knew who he was.

 _Are you for me?_ he’d said, returning to Oxford after wandering.

And James was, holding a sign marked with Lewis’s name.

_the end_

**Author's Note:**

> I believe that Lady Matilda’s in “Old Unhappy Far Off Things” is meant to be St Hilda’s College, and I have placed Lady Matilda’s where St Hilda’s should be, beside The Plain. The rhyme is, purportedly, real. Also, this story couldn’t have been written without Asparagusmama and all the lovely people at the Inspector Lewis comm, who helped with geography and locations.


End file.
